Pep(per) Up, Peppermint
by snapslikethis
Summary: Sixth year Lily is home, sick, on Christmas. Can a visit from her friends cheer her up?


The jolly chime of the doorbell cut through Lily's medicine-induced fog, rousing her. Even after the last echoes died away, she made no move from her nest on the sofa. She was closest to the door, sure, but she was also closest to death.

Exempt by default—let the healthy people handle it.

Except no one came, and the doorbell rang again. Lily winced. She'd never before fully appreciated the horror that was her parents' novelty chime.

"Lily," another horror—her sister—called from the back of the house, "get off your arse and answer that!"

"I'm _sick,_ " Lily croaked. Or tried to, instead breaking off into a violent cough.

When the door rang again, Lily wished death upon her tormenter.

"I'm baking!"

(More like barking.)

The doorbell rang _again_ —what kind of savage?

"Lily, bloody get that!"

"I'm ill!"

"If you were that ill, you'd be in bed rather than infecting us all."

Lily propped up on her elbows, the better to yell. "I'm sick on Christmas, and you're worried about germs?"

Christmas Eve, technically speaking, but wasn't it close enough?

"Girls, that's enough." Lily's mum, having just emerged from the washroom, silenced their fight. "Petunia, mind the biscuits. Lily, stop harassing your throat. _I'll_ get the door—likely it's only Mrs. Baker wanting help with her dustbins again."

After her mum patted Lily's head, she stepped to the front door. And when she opened the door, both a blast of cold air and a deafening roar assaulted the sitting room.

It wasn't Mrs. Baker at all, but a group of Christmas singers.

Lily threw her blanket over her head, cursing the damned do-gooders. But that wasn't fair, was it? They were only the old lot from St. Agnes's. (More loud than usual, but maybe they'd had too much spiked cocoa to keep warm.) She would've joined them, had she been feeling better. It's just, Christmas was her favorite holiday, and—

Wait. Did someone just sing _Hippogriffs?_

Lily reluctantly uncovered her head to listen. Sure enough, she distinguished Sirius Black's booming voice over all the rest, then Mary's cheerful one. She even heard James Potter's—loud and commanding and hopelessly off-key.

Well, then, that explained the savagery.

Was this a mad delusion? One too many decongestants?

She exerted her last bit of energy to peek over the back of the sofa. From this angle, she could just see the front door, and though her mother's silhouette blocked most of it, she saw Peter and Mary singing cheerfully.

Not a delusion, then. Just the whole crew come to wish her a Merry bloody Christmas.

With a smile (even though her cheeks hurt from puffiness), she collapsed again and listened to the song.

The lyrics, bastardized things Remus and Sirius had invented second year, were catchy, and Lily knew them by heart. She would've hummed along, but her throat still burned from yelling at her sister.

Her mates really were shit singers, weren't they? Fuck all if she didn't adore them to pieces.

"Merry Christmas," the group chorused at the close of their song. Mary added, "Hi, Mrs. Evans."

Lily's mum clapped appreciatively. "Well done, all of you. Mary—good to see you again. And you too, Aggie, Teresa. And thank you to the rest of you for the song."

Petunia—from her perch in the doorway, where she'd come to watch—clucked her tongue. Mrs. Evans ignored her.

"I take it you're all the school friends?" her mum asked.

Lily heard various answers of affirmation, then Mary asked, "Is Lily here?"

"She is, but I'm afraid she's feeling a bit under the weather."

"That explains why she didn't answer my owl, then."

Lily conscience prickled. Or was that another headache? She loved her mates, but she felt worse than under the weather, she felt bloody awful. Instead of wishing them a wonderful evening, however, her mother bid her mates inside for a nip of hot cocoa.

Lily and Petunia's whispered protests went unheeded—maybe as punishment for their bickering?

"I insist," she said, opening the door wide. "You're all frozen solid. We have fresh-baked biscuits, too."

Fresh-baked biscuits proved too enticing to pass up; with a great tramping of snow off boots, Lily's mates filed around the couch and into the small sitting room, hanging their coats on the coat stand, which threatened to topple with the weight, and then taking whatever seat—or spot on the floor—was available. Mary, Lily's best friend, moved Lily's legs to take a seat on the sofa.

After brief introductions to the boys, her mother bustled into the kitchen to start preparing cocoa.

As they all stared expectantly at Lily, it occurred to her that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Hell, she wasn't wearing proper _trousers._ And her legs hadn't been shaved since she left school, and her hair hadn't seen the clean side of a shower in nearly that long. Her blanket wasn't big enough to properly cover both, so she curled into a ball and covered herself.

Mary poked her. "We know that's you, Lil."

Lily grunted.

Petunia stepped forward and plucked the blanket clean off the couch. "Don't be rude, Lily. Your friends are here to see you."

Lily glared at her. Yes, Petunia had been forced to wait on Lily hand and foot for days, and yes, Lily had completely abused it, but this was a low blow. Mary, who despised Petunia, lunched over the back of the couch for it; Petunia stepped out of reach.

"Petunia, dear," Mrs. Evans beckoned, "stop torturing your sister and help me, or go to your room."

Petunia tossed the blanket into the dirty laundry before heading to her room.

"So that's your sister?" Peter asked, as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Lily nodded.

"She's a peach, Evans," Sirius said, giving her a wink. "A real star."

Lily returned Sirius's grin—he understood what it was like to have a shit sibling.

Aggie, bless her, grabbed a coat from the tree and lay it over Lily. Although she was grateful, she lay there, miserable, facing her friends, who watched her with various expressions of sympathy. Bloody hell.

"Someone's got to say it, Evans," Sirius said, "and I'll volunteer. You look like shit."

"What he means, Lily, darling," Aggie said, giving a sympathetic smile, "is that you look unwell."

"Mhm," Lily said. Unwell was an understatement, wasn't it?

"Only a bit," Mary said.

"How bad?" Lily asked.

"Eight out of ten."

"Ten being okay?"

Mary patted her foot. "Ten being _shit_ , love."

"I feel ten out of ten like shit, Mare."

Her voice was embarrassingly groggy—she hadn't properly used it in days, except to boss Petunia around. But she was too tired even to care that she looked like shit.

"I'd give you a hug, darling," Teresa said, "but I don't want to catch whatever it is you have."

"Rudolph disease," Sirius said, "that's what she's got."

When everyone looked at him, confused and expectant, and a tiny bit apprehensive to hear whatever it was that meant, he explained, "the blotchy nose. Get it?"

James took a swipe at Sirius. Sirius, of course, reciprocated, throwing in a kick for good measure. The boys tumbled into the already cramped center of the room, wrestling. Because what could possibly go wrong with _that_?

"Boys, be civilized!" Mary ordered, bringing them to heel.

The boys straightened up. James, with his ridiculous, lopsided antlers headband, and equally crooked glasses, looked at Lily. He had the good sense to appear sheepish, even if he didn't mean it.

Lily returned his grin.

"Sirius has something to say to you, Evans."

When Sirius didn't speak, James punched him lightly in the arm, and they engaged in some sort of nonverbal argument. Sirius lost. With a tortured sigh, he said, "Evans, darling, you look lovely tonight. Positively radiant."

Lily grinned again. "That hurt?"

"Very much."

"It's okay."

This satisfied James, and the boys returned to their places on the floor. Peter became the victim of his own curiosity then, opening one of the many medicine bottles that littered the side table and giving it a little taste.

"Merlin, what _is_ that rubbish?"

Mary eyed the label. "That's cough medicine, Peter."

"And this?" he asked, lifting another.

"Also cough medicine."

"And this one?"

"A decongestant. And my mum makes me take that—it's just as awful."

He rattled a little bottle of pills. "And _this_ one?"

"Looks like an antibiotic of some sort." Aggie—who wanted to be a healer, and whose parents were Muggle doctors, motioned for the bottle. Peter tossed it over. She read the label and frowned. "Lily Evans, these are for your _father."_

"Yeah?"

"They expired two years ago!"

Lily shrugged.

Aggie gaped at Lily. "Christ, Lil, are you taking all of these medicines at once?"

"Mhm."

They didn't help at all, but she kept trying different combinations to see if she could get more than three hours of sleep. Hadn't happened yet.

"I'm keeping these," Aggie said, and she shoved the bottle into her jeans pocket.

Teresa, sensing a fight brewing, redirected the conversation: "Lil, what's wrong with you, exactly?"

Lily lay back on her pillow. "Death."

"Strep throat?" Peter asked.

" _Death_."

"Sinus infection?" Teresa guessed.

"Death."

"Bronchitis?" Aggie asked.

"DEATH."

"Oh," Mary said, "I remember this one. You have a cold. A cold, right?"

Lily nodded.

"Just a cold?" James asked. "Why don't you take Pepper Up then?"

She angled her head to make proper eye contact.

He'd been watching her since his arrival, something she'd pretended not to notice, but he hadn't yet spoken to her directly. Brewing a Pepper Up had occurred to _her_ more than once. And it'd be nice, but she didn't turn seventeen until January. Once upon a time, she would've thought he meant it rudely, but here, he didn't _mean_ to be insensitive, did he?

It probably never even occurred to him that she wouldn't have proper access to magic outside school.

She shook her head. "No magic."

James ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. "Shit, sorry, Evans. Forgot."

"S'okay." And then something occurred to her. "How did you lot even get here?" Surely they weren't reckless enough to side-along with Sirius, the only one without a trace.

"Knight Bus," Peter said. "Remus threw up twice."

Which explained both his putrid shade of green, and his silence. He and Lily exchanged sympathetic smiles—good to know she wasn't the _only_ one feeling like shit.

"And why are you all _here_ , in Cokeworth?"

James piped up. "To serenade you, of course. And to wish you a happy Christmas."

"Happy bloody Christmas, mate," she said with a laugh. Her laugh turned into another coughing fit.

When she recovered, Mary said, "Why don't you stop trying to talk, Lil. Or laugh. Or move. Or do anything but lie there pathetically, and we'll regale you with our harrowing adventure so far tonight, yeah? The boys can tell it properly."

The boys obliged, launching into a thrilling tale that was hilarious, and complete bullshit, but entertaining nevertheless.

Lily sank back into the couch, trying and failing to ignore the way James Potter kept flickering to her.

James Potter, here in her living room. She wouldn't have believed it four months ago, and now it seemed—not natural, exactly, but not unnatural, either. She didn't _fancy_ him, but they'd become something like mates over the last term.

(Mates who had almost snogged at the last victory party, but you know, whatever. She'd almost snogged lots of her friends.)

That he was here, watching her look like death, and not _minding_ that she looked like death…that shouldn't unsettle her at all.

Perhaps Aggie was right about the meds.

"Mary, dear," her mum called, "could you come help me with the cocoa?"

Mary left, and James took her place on the sofa. Lily tucked her hairy legs under the coat.

"Don't shy away from _me_ Evans, you're the infectious one."

With that, he pulled her sock-covered foot from under the blanket and began to massage it. Tickle it, actually, under the guise of massaging it. She wriggled away from him, but the couch was too small, and his grip was too firm.

(This, touching, this was a new thing for them too. A new and not wholly unwanted thing, but not with everyone watching them.)

She kicked him and tucked her feet under his thigh. He let go and slung his arm over the back of the sofa, making himself perfectly at ease.

An awkward silence remained, and Lily supposed it fell on her to host—they were at _her_ house, after all. And she was happy to see all of them, but she could barely speak.

She looked to James for help. He took up the mantle of reigniting the conversation.

Sure, he did it by provoking Remus into a good-natured argument by insulting his hideous Christmas sweater, but Lily had no complaints. She smiled as Remus said he wouldn't be taking fashion critiques from someone wearing blinking antlers, fuck you very much.

Off they went.

Lily snuggled under the coat as they bantered banter back and forth, carrying on until her mum came in to announce cocoa was ready.

"It might actually be better if you lot come in here," she explained apologetically. "There's more room in the kitchen."

Her mates went into the kitchen, keen on their biscuits and hot chocolate, but her mother lingered behind.

"Do you mind that I invited them in?" She sat on the edge of the sofa and tucked a bit of Lily's stray hair behind her ear. "I know you're unwell, but I thought it might do you some good to see them."

"It's okay," Lily replied. She eyed the mug her mum set down on the coffee table. "Cocoa?"

"No, you tea."

" _Muum_."

" _Yes_ , Lily. You've got to take it. It helps your throat."

Her mum might call it tea, but Lily called it what it was—medicinal garbage. Potions didn't taste as foul, and Lily had tasted enough failed experiments to know. A bloody torture device, is what it was, all dressed up in Lily's favorite Dr. Who mug.

"I'll make sure she drinks it, Mrs. Evans. You can go and relax."

Both Lily and her mum turned their attention to James, who stood in the doorway.

Her mother asked, "Refresh my memory, dear, what's your name again?"

"James Potter."

"And you promise you'll make her drink it?"

"Yep," James said, then corrected himself. "I mean yes. Ma'am. Yes ma'am."

"Oh, don't call me ma'am," her mum said, "But you make sure she drinks that, James Potter."

"Okay."

"She likes to toss it in the flowerpot when she thinks I'm not looking."

" _Mum_."

"Going, going."

"And thank you," he said, lifting his hand to indicate his cocoa and biscuits.

"Of course, dear. I'll be in there if you need me."

Lily frowned at James.

"Hush, Evans." James sat on the couch. "Drink, then I can give you contraband."

"Cocoa?"

He held up a biscuit. Lily made a face and shook her head.

"You really _are_ sick….which is why you need to drink that."

"No."

"Oh yes, you are," he said, pulling her into a sitting position. "I promised your mum."

"Suck up."

"Drink."

"Traitor."

"Drink."

" _Fine_."

But instead of drinking, she tried to lay back down again. He grabbed her elbow and tucked her into his side, so that her head was resting on his shoulder. And that was playing foul, wasn't it? Of course she wouldn't want to move _now_.

He picked the mug up from the coffee table, then placed it in her hand.

"Drink, Evans."

"You shouldn't be touching me, Potter. I'm really gross."

"Nah." His shoulder shrugged, even though her head rested on it. "You're, like, five out of ten. Not eight."

Lily smiled, despite the fact that the putrid tea wafted under her nose. " _Liar_."

"Yeah, but I don't mind."

"Well, thank-you."

"Drink."

She did as he asked, if only to shut him up about it. Shuddered, because it tasted like rancid jelly slugs, didn't it? He had the bullocks to laugh at her. She pinched his side.

"Ow! Is it really that bad?"

When she held the mug under his nose, he cringed.

" _Fuck_. Give it." He took the mug out of her hand and drained it into the houseplant. "That's foul, Evans, but it's nothing to the, er, perfume you're wearing."

"Ew. Stop smelling me."

"Can't help it—it's, er, very pungent."

She snorted. "The rank scent of unwashed sickness?"

"No. I mean yes, but there's also something"—he sniffed—"minty? Peppermint?"

Lily blushed. "Oh, that's the vapor rub."

"Hm?"

"A salve, for the coughing."

On cue, she started coughing again. That's what she got for talking so much, wasn't it? Her reward was James Potter rubbing her back. Completely unhelpful, but no complaints from her.

After she recovered, they sipped his cocoa in comfortable silence.

He assured her he could get a Pepper Up if he got sick, so what did it matter? And she was wrong—this, her and James, this _was_ comfortable, wasn't it? Far more than she'd ever thought possible. He had a very cozy shoulder, after all, and his coat smelt rather better than unwashed rank, with a flavor of mint.

Not unlike her Amortentia. (Not that she'd mention that to _him_.)

Too soon for her liking, their friends filed back in, along with their mother. It was a flurry of activity, locating boots and mittens, and Lily was shivering from the opened front door. Eventually, though, they'd all filed past the couch with well wishes for a Merry Christmas.

Mary promised to come visit for the New Year.

Everyone except James. She was afraid he'd slipped out first, that she'd missed him, when he emerged from the hall with a blanket.

"I couldn't deprive you of my coat, could I, without giving you something in return?"

He traded his coat for the blanket—not that shitty thing she'd been using, but a big, cozy one from the linen closet.

"My _hero_."

"'Course I am."

Reckless, flirting in front of her mother, but she couldn't _bloody_ help it, could she?

"Sorry 'bout the germs."

"No worries. Take care, yeah? And drink your tea."

He bent over the back of the sofa to ruff her hair. Her greasy, unkempt hair, but he didn't seem to mind. She didn't mind it, either. She did mind her mother's knowing look, though, so she brushed his hand away.

Her mother bid him goodbye, then closed the door after him after he left.

"Well, that was an adventure," her mum said. "I'm sure you're you out."

Lily nodded and—hopefully for the last time—collapsed on the sofa again, burrowing into her blanket. "It did…but it was nice."

"You have good friends, love."

"Yeah, I do." Lily rolled over on her side, burying her face into the couch cushion.

"Don't think that falling back to sleep is going to prevent you from answering all sorts of questions about that boy in the morning."

"Night, mum. Merry Christmas."

She'd answer her mum's questions about James Potter in the morning, or as soon as she had some. For now, she was knackered, and warm and cozy for reasons that had nothing to do with her mum's tea, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep through until Christmas morning.

Long before Christmas morning dawned, however, the wretched doorbell rang again, waking her up.

No, that was the cuckoo clock from her father's den.

No, the cuckoo clock didn't _hoot_. Nor did it rap at the window.

She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment until she realized she'd been moved to her bedroom. Her dad must have done when he got home from work.

She was in her bedroom, and a little tawny owl sat outside her window sill. It hooted again.

Lily heaved herself off the bed and dragged herself to the window. After letting the owl in and relieving it of its burdens, she was amused, and grateful, but not entirely surprised to read:

"Miss Peppermint,

Bribed dad into brewing this, since he's the Potioneer. It's fresh, so it should work like a brick. Mind the steaming ears, and chuck that vapor rub when your Mum's not looking.

Happy bloody Christmas,

Your Hero"


End file.
